


Next to normal fanfics that I’m gonna regret

by baby_panda20



Category: Next to Normal - Kitt/Yorkey
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Musical, Next to Normal - Freeform, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:00:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_panda20/pseuds/baby_panda20
Summary: I'm unhealthily in love with this show way too late so I'm gonna try to spark a little life in this fandom. Send in some requests if you're interested, I'll write anything but toxic ships, smut and suicide (I might write suicide attempts for this book because there was a canon suicide attempt, but no actual suicide) Enjoy these although I'll regret them years later. Thanks for reading!





	1. Somehow Surviving

**Author's Note:**

> a few rules/heads up:  
> 1\. I'm absolutely 100% not going to write anything where the focus is explicitly sexual between any characters.  
> 2\. I'm also not going to write anything shipping anyone that isn't canon (the only romantic relationships I'll write are Diana/Dan and Natalie/Henry).  
> 3a. I'm gonna try my absolute hardest to make this book fluffy, but there's inevitably gonna be a hell of a lot of angst and triggers. The musical itself is chocked full of triggering content, so be warned. Basically for this book, I'll always put the warnings for triggers whether they're canon or not, but please don't attack me for including triggers that are canon because, well, they're canon and many are core elements to the plot of the musical.  
> 3b. Some potential triggers for anyone who may not know the musical (I'm not sure if I'll incorporate all of these or if I'll add new ones, but you'll know either way): mental illness (anxiety & bipolar disorder/delusions), prescription drug use/abuse, suicide attempts, and grief over a deceased child/sibling.  
> 4\. Gabe is dead. This sounds like really basic knowledge if you know the show, but I've seen people write him as if he were alive. Yes, he will exist, but only as a ghost who mostly kind of watches and interacts from a distance, like in the show. I'm also not about the whole afterlife spiel, so nothing like that either.  
> 5\. This isn't really a rule, more of a recommendation, but seriously, listen to Next to Normal if you haven't. It'll help you understand more of what's going on, plus it's just worth a listen anyway. If you have listened, feel free to fangirl with me any time. It's such an amazing musical for countless reasons. It has such a powerful portrayal of mental illness that even people who aren't mentally ill (like myself) can appreciate and empathize with. Also, DEH was partially based off of it, plus you get Jennifer Damiano, Alice Ripley, and Aaron Tveit. What's not to love?

_Catch me, I'm falling._

_Flying headfirst into fate._

_Catch me before it's too late._

Natalie downs the last few drops of a large can of Red Bull as she paces back and forth, peering out from the wings of the stage every two seconds and only ducking back in when she can feel the gaze of other audience members. Her parents should both know how much this recital means to her. She's only muttered about it in front of them fifty thousand times in the last week. She told her mom about it the day she got the final date, more than a month in advance. She heard her promise she'd be there. "We'll put it on the calendar," she'd said. 

How could she be so naïve as to believe her after all the lies she's been told in the past? Every swim meet, every concert, every birthday, everything that's mattered in her life, her mom was never there for her. But of course, she was always there for Superboy, the one who could do no wrong in her eyes, the one who should be invisible but isn't in some fucked up outcome, the one who doesn't even exist yet still makes sure nobody ever acknowledges who Natalie Goodman is. 

Not even her dad is there for her now, God knows where he is. Her hands fidget nervously as she scans the audience yet again until she feels a large, yet familiar touch on the back of her shoulder. She whirls around, jumpier than ever, the little glint of optimism in the back of her mind hoping that maybe they did make it after all.

But Natalie should know better than to have any microscopic amount of optimism after sixteen years of constant disappointment after heartbreak. When she turns, she only sees Henry's gentle brown eyes. He's holding a cheap, dorky-looking bouquet filled to the brim with flowers, not taking his hand off of her shoulder.

"Hey, Nat, I know I'm not supposed to be backstage, but...for luck-" He presents the bouquet to her, his face flushing a little as a cluster of petals falls to the floor. 

Natalie cuts him off almost immediately, completely ignoring the gesture. She has bigger priorities right now than some stupid bouquet. "Did you see my parents out there?"

Something changes in Henry's face after she speaks, and she can't help but shake a tinge of guilt for brushing him off so sharply. She can feel the familiar feeling of hot tears stinging the backs of her eyes, but she forces them back with a couple of sharp blinks. Natalie never allows herself to cry in front of others, sometimes not even in front of herself. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Henry asks hesitantly, seeming like he already knows the answer. The look of utter concern and pity in his eyes tells Natalie that she must be shaking even more than she thought. 

"I'm fine," she responds robotically, distracting herself from the tension in her chest at forcing back tears by peering out from behind the curtain again. "My dad said they'd both be here." Natalie wraps her hands around the back of her head, running them down to the back of her neck just to give herself something else to do with them. Henry delicately places his thumb under her chin, unsure of whether or not she wants to be touched at the moment, but taking a chance anyway. 

"Then I'm sure they will be," he responds reassuringly, hoping he's getting through to the frantic girl. 

"Will they?!" Natalie pulls away, smoothing the hair on the top of her head as she stares forlornly at the curtain, not even bothering to pull it back and look out again. Henry steps back, afraid he's overstepped his boundaries.  
Natalie seems like she's fighting back a whirlwind of hysteria, like a capped Coke bottle filled with a pack of Mentos. 

Henry approaches her cautiously, keeping his hands off her. "Nat, they're your parents...despite everything that's happened, they'll find a way to be here."

"You clearly don't know my parents," Natalie mutters bitterly, pursing her lips. 

"Why do you want them here so badly?" Henry asks, genuinely curious.

"Because, I...forget it, you won't understand...where the hell are they?!" Natalie's tone bites as she shifts her gaze to the floor, walking frantically to the opposite corner of the backstage area. Both of them keep silent for what feels like half an eternity. 

Natalie reluctantly takes one more look out into the audience, pulling her head back almost instantaneously. "Goddamnit!" she suddenly yells, stomping her foot so hard that Henry's terrified that she legitimately broke it. Her voice breaks as she shouts, raspy and exhausted and terrified and all Henry wants to do is hug her as tightly as he can and tell her it'll all be okay. But he can't. Even if he could, she wouldn't buy it for a second. He has no clue what to say to her.

Their silence is abruptly broken when the announcer calls Natalie to the stage. She doesn't say anything to him, but he mutters a small "good luck" to her stiff, rigid back, watching her from the wings.

Natalie's eyes scan the audience as she stands behind the keyboard. Two empty seats. 

_She's not there. She's not there. She's not there._

She can barely hide her anxiety from the hundreds of strangers' eyes staring back at her, waiting for her to do or say something. Anything.

"Um...thank you for coming. Natalie Goodman." She plasters on a fake, halfhearted smile, taking her seat at the keyboard and slowly placing her fingers on the ivory keys, hoping she can still play and just get through this two minute performance and go home and hide in her room until she's forced to do it all over again tomorrow morning. 

Her fingers don't dance across the keys like they used to anymore. The way Henry's still do. Her eyes are laser-focused on her hands, which seem to be moving far too quickly and far too slowly at the same time. She's sure that she's already played about five notes wrong and no one is there to comfort her and no promises can ever be kept and she can't trust anyone or anything and she feels her hands moving faster and faster and she's not sure if she's been playing for five seconds or five minutes but it's all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

_Fuck._

Her fingers slip. They must have slipped, there's absolutely no reason a sound as awful as the combination of notes that she just played should have occurred. She swears she sees people's eyes narrowing in disgust, some widening in shock. Natalie Goodman made a mistake. Some probably didn't even think it was possible for a girl who always pushed her picture-perfect, Yale-bound self into the limelight to make even a tiny mistake. But now she's singlehandedly thrown sixteen years of meticulous academic development out the window in a mere two minutes. _I can fix this. I have to fix this._

She starts over instantly, her whole body even more tense than before. Her bones feel like they're frozen into place, the rest of her body paralyzed and numb. But she has to play, no matter how awful she feels inside or out. That's what she promised herself the very first moment her pudgy little seven-year-old fingers touched the captivating keys.

She's always thought she's felt like she was dying before, but nothing she's ever felt can compare to what she's feeling now. Just one more note, just one more. 

But her fingers feel too much like jelly, bony and pale and numb as they basically fall off the piano, slamming into about fifteen completely wrong keys on their way down. The dissonance echoes throughout the small auditorium with its cursedly good acoustics, the sound reverberating in Natalie's ears. The one thing she's sought comfort in for more than half of her life has betrayed her, just like everything else she's ever loved. She stands up slowly, basically disassociated from her body.

"I'm sorry...I just...the thing is...I..."

Unfortunately for her, this means she's also disassociated from her mouth.

The bottle cap has flown off. 

"You know what the problem with classical is? It's so rigid! And structured! You have to play the notes on the page! There's no room for...improvisation!"

"Oh, no..." Henry watches helplessly as the words he'd said to her the first time they'd "met" come back to haunt him in the worst way possible. He watches her continue to slam the keys incoherently, not even caring how much the god awful noise she's making hurts his ears. It hurts him much more to see her like this. The Natalie he knows would never allow herself to break, especially not this publicly. 

Has she really snapped? 

Meanwhile, Natalie can barely even hear the words coming out of her own mouth. It sounds like her voice, but at the same time, it sounds like someone completely different. Someone broken. Someone unusual. 

Someone crazy. 

_Take a look...the invisible girl._

Fading away.

_Falling..._

Faster than anyone should.


	2. The Two Stay Together The Way That They Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea was requested by Neen! Thank you so much for the idea and for taking an interest in my work! I really hope you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> **brief TWs for mentions of drug usage and death of a sibling**

It's been four years since Henry has last spoken to Natalie. Four years of chickening out of phone calls because neither of them could muster up enough courage to hit the incriminating, green dial button. Four years since Diana's old, chalky prescription pills have touched Natalie's tongue. Four years since Henry smoked his last bong. Four years of ups and downs, of acceptances and rejections, of incomprehensible levels of physical and emotional stress. But worst of all, four years since the two have seen each others' faces in anything other than worn photographs and the occasional Facebook post. Natalie had headed off to Yale on the opposite side of the country and Henry was just barely admitted into the state school, creating a seemingly impenetrable barrier between the two of them. Henry knew better than to spontaneously call Natalie when she already had so much on her plate, while Natalie was too consumed in her rigorous studies and her own internal anxieties raging in her head whenever the thought of picking up the phone crossed her mind.

But finally, the school year has ended, and Henry figures now is as good a time as any to reconnect with her. Though it's late at night, if he knows Natalie, he know's she's wide awake. Fingers trembling, he dials her number, tapping his foot on the floor of his dorm room as the dial tone rings.

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring._

Just as Henry's about to give up all hope, a small crinkle of feedback followed by a familiar voice echoes through the phone.

"Hello?"

"Nat? It's me, Henry..."

"Henry?! What are you doing?!" Natalie huffs, causing a pop of static in Henry's ear.

"Oh, um, I just figured...listen, it's been so long...why can't we just see each other for a week? I'll fly down and we can...you know, catch up."

"Catch up...? You actually wanna talk to me again?"

"Of course I do, I've missed you. Have you missed me?"

"Yeah, a lot, just...life's been...busy."

"Come on, it's summer vacation! We can do whatever we want!"

"Within reason," Natalie asserts, her throat closing; it's clear she doesn't want to relive her high school days anytime soon.

"Yeah, right, obviously. What do you say to lunch on Friday?"

"I can't," Natalie answers far too quickly, completely monotone.

"Why not?"

"I just _can't._ " Natalie responds even more firmly, finger hovering on the end call button.

"Nat, please, talk to me."

She hesitates for a moment before deciding to bite the bullet. "My dad wants me home..."

"I'm guessing that's not a good thing," Henry sighs in defeat, though he's slightly relieved that he doesn't have to spend the little money he has left on a plane ticket.

"I've gotta go. I'm flying back early tomorrow." She abruptly ends the call, though she has no plans of sleeping anytime soon. Henry flops down unceremoniously on his messy twin-size bed, setting his phone on his nightstand.

The morning can't come any slower. Henry waits until mid-day before trying to call Natalie again, hoping that this time she'll give him a little more information. _In your dreams._

"What do you want?!" Surprisingly, she picks up, though the obvious exasperation and lag in her tone shows that she isn't too thrilled about doing so.

"I just wanna see you again," Henry says softly, treading lightly as he always has to around her.

Natalie's voice disappears for a minute, causing Henry to gnaw on his lip, nerves overtaking him. The phone is completely silent, and he's not sure if he can or should say anything, so he doesn't until Natalie's hushed voice returns.

"Meet me at the cemetery in an hour," she practically whispers, a bit choked up. The familiar sound of Natalie fighting back tears brings back so many memories that ended horribly; plus, the fact that they're reuniting at a cemetery doesn't bring him any sort of comfort. But Henry follows her instructions, taking an Uber down to the cemetery since he can't afford a rental car. He notices the Honda with the familiar, massive dent in the grill from when Diana tried to teach Natalie how to drive parked across the street, bringing him just a tinge of comfort. 

He stumbles out of the Uber, awkwardly tripping over his own feet as he weaves his way through the endless rows of headstones and mourners. Every step makes him think harder about just how cryptically _Natalie_ this whole thing is, how she's probably hiding out somewhere to avoid him. Anxiety surges within him, his steps getting more rigid and tense and the corners of his eyes stinging with tears of betrayal that he can't even justify. After five minutes of searching, he finally sees the top of a head of dark brunette curls peeking out from a long row of headstones. He clambers over the shorter tombstones, dodging the few larger ones until he sees her face, at which point he ducks behind her, out of sight for the moment. She's clad in a lacy black dress, kneeling in front of a simple, marble grave, so minuscule that it's barely even noticeable among the hundreds of thousands of other tombstones nearby. Still hidden, Henry cranes his neck over the back of Natalie's shoulder to read what it says. 

_Gabriel Jeremiah Goodman_

_March 17, 1991-November 29, 1992_

The worn text on the tombstone is rather plain, like barely any thought or grievance had been put into it. But Henry can tell by the tears that flow freely from Natalie's red, puffy eyes that the emotion she's built up inside is more than enough to make up for it. He remembers her mentioning Gabe before, how spitefully she'd spoken about him, how she'd called him _Superboy_ , how she'd said he singlehandedly took her parents away from her. None of that made it on the grave. But yet, here she was, salty tears landing on the grass where he'd been buried. Was it from anger...or remorse? Henry slowly approaches her, careful to walk quietly so as not to startle her. 

"Hey," he says shakily, kneeling down beside her.

"Hey..." she replies, flinching a little but otherwise unfazed. 

"Where's your dad?"

"He didn't come...this was my idea." Henry's taken aback a little, both because she's letting herself cry in front of him and because she's never expressed a strong desire to talk about her brother. Maybe being away for so long has changed her more than he thought. Maybe he doesn't know her as well as he believed he did after all.

"Oh, Nat...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come, I'll just-"

"No! I mean...no, you can stay..." she interjects, adjusting her position, almost as if she wanted to grab his hand and pull him back. Another surprise. 

"Are you sure? I figured you'd wanna be alone with..." His voice trails off, not wanting to say his name in front of her.

"I invited you here, didn't I? Just...stay...please...and then we'll do something else later...catch up, like you said..."

"Okay...I've missed you, Nat..." Natalie suddenly shifts herself over to lay against him, taking his hand gently and wrapping his arm around her back, the same way he'd held her when they were kids. She'd claimed she'd always hated it. She'd shove his arm off of her when she wasn't too delirious to realize what was going on. He squeezes her lightly, watching her face to see how she reacts, but she doesn't fuss, just sinks further into his embrace. It's strange and new and messy and slightly uncomfortable, but none of that matters to either of them. 

They sit in the same position for several minutes, neither of them daring to move or speak until Natalie props herself up a little and Henry briskly wipes the remnants of her tears off with his thumb. Everything feels so different compared to when they were kids, but somehow it's still exactly the same. They're together, and maybe they're not perfect. Well, okay, _definitely_ not perfect.

But who needs perfect anyway?


	3. Riding On The Brightest Buzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, it's been a hot four months since I've actually had time to write something! I found this in my drafts and finished it up tonight for your reading pleasure. Or maybe not pleasure...this one's thick with angst. Either way enjoy!
> 
> **TW: brief suicide/mental illness mentions and explicit prescription drug use/abuse**

"You know, Natalie, it's not all about your comfort! It's about helping your mother!" Dan's thunderous voice echoes up the stairs, Natalie stomping up them so roughly that the house practically shakes on its foundation.

"As _always!_ " It's never been about her. She's heard that excuse more times than she can count. She slams the door to the bathroom, the hinges snapping audibly over the loud bang of the door, but that's the least of her problems. Her mother, the one who all the cheesy Hollywood movies tell her that she's supposed to get manicures and gush over boys with, is in a hospital, letting doctors fry her brain like barbecue. _They're running out of options_ , her dad had told her. _We have to give this a try._

Natalie slumps onto the toilet, burying her head in her hands. Her mom is never going to be okay. This is how she'll have to live forever. Diana had slit her wrists in their bathtub just three days ago. Natalie was at school when it happened. Her mom could have died right then and there and she wouldn't have known. How could she? Diana barely spared her a good morning that morning as she frantically paced around the kitchen, rearranging Dan's five coffee mugs for the hundredth time. She was fully intent on ending her life that day and she couldn't have said so much as a goodbye to her own daughter as she left innocently for school.

Her dad was too focused on convincing both of them that everything was going to be fine that he didn't realize anything was truly wrong until he saw the red-stained water leaking under the door from the still-running bathtub. Natalie didn't even find out until late that night when her dad got home from the hospital. All she had to go off of was a vague text from him that explained absolutely nothing.

_Nat, I'll be home late. There's pizza in the freezer._

When she asked about her mom, no response. She hasn't seen her since, and now she's not coming home for two more weeks. Supposedly as a changed person.

_Bullshit._

She stirs a bit at the sudden sound of shuffling echoing from near the sink.

"Dad, leave me alone," Natalie hisses, picking her legs up to rest unsteadily on the rim of the toilet.

But when she lifts her head, there's no one there. It's gone silent. All that's there is a small, black duffel bag, perched enticingly on the sink. Natalie stands slowly, her gaze flickering back and forth. _How did that get there?_

She unzips the bag slowly, her hands shaking as she sifts through it, eventually colliding with thin, rounded plastic.

The bag is full of little orange bottles, almost to the top, each of them half-filled with a rainbow of little pills of all different shapes and sizes.

Natalie fishes through the bag, pulling out the bottles one by one. She examines each of their labels, squinting to read the tiny print.

_Goodman, Diana._

_Risperdal: take one pill (4 mg) by mouth once daily, with or without food._

_Valium: take one pill (5 mg) by mouth twice daily, with or without food._

_Xanax: take one pill (1 mg) by mouth once daily, with or without food._

The pills clack against the bottles as Natalie jostles them, sifting through more and more. All of these enticing little pills made Diana feel more normal, even just a tiny bit, even for an hour.

That's all that Natalie wants right now. To feel normal. Just for a little while. She's losing her mind, she needs this.

At least, that's what the little voice in her head says. A voice that sounds exactly like her and nothing like her at all at the same time. She opens a few bottles, pouring a couple of pills out of each.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Blue. White. Purple. Green.

Lost among others in Natalie's warm, shaking palm. She pushes them around with her finger, watching as they shift, turn, flip. They barely weigh anything, but she feels like she's carrying the weight of the world in her hand. She analyzes them carefully, debating whether or not to dry swallow them, but finally going against it. She can't even swallow pills like a normal person.

She clutches the pills tightly in her hand, balling it into a fist as she grabs a half-empty can of Red Bull off of her desk across the hall. The can is warm and light, exactly how she wants to feel. She locks her bedroom door, sitting on the edge of the bed and slowly opening her fingers again, revealing the assortment of chalky, multi-colored tablets. Her hand trembles tensely, the pills vibrating as she brings them closer to her mouth, wondering if this is really the right thing to do. Fuck being right. The only thing that's not right is how her parents treat her like she's nothing but an apparition. They don't even overtly hate her, they just want her gone. Nothing could be worse than that.

_What the hell._

In one swift motion, Natalie pops somewhere between three and seven pills in her mouth, their identities unknown. She tilts her head back as she pours a bit of Red Bull down her throat, the warmth burning it all the way down. Her throat swells to the size of a tennis ball; she's not sure if she's choking or not, she can still breathe slowly. The rough-edged capsules scratch at her throat as if maybe they'll tear her esophagus and that'll make two people in the Goodman family that bleed out half to death in the last week. Morbid, really fucking morbid, but completely possible.

The feeling disappears after a minute, leaving a new, tingly sensation in its place. Something she's never felt before, but something she swears she'll do anything to feel for the rest of her life. She copies her maneuver from before with the remaining couple of pills left in her hand, but this time, her throat's too numb for her to feel any of the previous tension. A fantastic, airy feeling pulsates through the rest of her body: her legs, her arms, her head. Her feet leave the ground, her legs detach from underneath her. Her breath gives out after another few minutes, but she still feels the best she's felt in years. The room doesn't want to stay still, her ceiling fan looking much more distorted than it did ten minutes ago. Her mind runs wild with plans and ideas, bursting at the seams. She wants to fly, she wants to sing, she wants to dance, she wants to cry, she wants to laugh, and she can do it all.

_Plug me in, and turn me on._

This is what normal feels like.

Before she can even process anything, she's out of the house, stumbling down the street. It's somewhere close to midnight, but she just has an overwhelming urge to explore. Her dad doesn't even seem to notice her leave, but who needs him? Who needs anything? This is amazing, this is horrible, this is the greatest feeling, the fastest rush she's ever felt. She feels electric, her entire body warm like fire except for the back of her neck, sharp bursts of icy coolness rushing through her veins. The little hairs stand on end as a light whoosh of air colder than the winter wind blows on it, a gust of something that wants to make itself known to her. She shrugs it off, too loopy to give it a second thought, and continues to walk to God knows where.

She's eventually drawn towards a worn-looking building with big, flashing lights and signs that pain her overly sensitive eyes to look at, yet simultaneously cause her to gravitate toward like a moth to a flame. Natalie squints to read one of the signs, but all she can make out through her blurred, fuzzy vision is "Club Ivory". Natalie has never been to a club in her life. She's also never taken a single pill other than a couple of Tylenol when she's sick. Her normally stringent judgment is completely gone, replaced by a deep hunger for something she can't quite name, but something that yearns to be satisfied. She stumbles lazily through the door, the angry shouts of a thundering voice making her ears ring, but the words may as well be in a foreign language.

Loud music penetrates through the warbled film of her eardrums, and she's not sure where it's coming from or what it is, but her body loosens up at the sound, adrenaline pulling her limbs like she's a puppet on strings. She screams gleefully as the room spins, but she can't feel her legs moving at all. Other people bump into her on the dance floor, the force pushing her jellylike legs much farther than it would if she had any sense of balance whatsoever. Once, twice, three times and she's on the ground, lost in a sea of hooting and hollering figures who have clearly had way too much to drink.

Somehow, she manages to pull herself up, leaning heavily against what she thinks is a wall, but feels weirdly warm and is moving too much to be a wall. As she flails wildly again, involuntary giggles escape from her lips. Her brain keeps telling her this is fun, this is what she wants, this is happiness. Even as her head pounds like someone is hitting it with a sledgehammer over and over. Even as her legs might as well be on the other side of the room and make it impossible for her to stand in one place for more than a second. Even when she feels dizzier and sicker and more like death by the minute, wanting to escape whatever sadistic carousel ride she's on.

On second thought, maybe normal isn't so great after all.

Her stomach suddenly convulses and she barely musters up the strength to suppress a gag, her skin ghostly pale. Her high is quickly fading, leaving behind overwhelming anxiety and a level of immense agony all through her body that she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. The rush of happiness through her nerves is replaced by a consistent screaming pain akin to what she'd imagined a heart attack would be like, acidic bile burning the back of her throat. Panic surges inside her and she tries to bolt, but her body won't let her move more than a few feet before she'll fall flat on her face. The sandpapery wall pricks her hands like needles, but it's the only form of support keeping her a little steady. Black spots balloon across her vision, starting as little blips but quickly growing even larger the more terrified she becomes of them like they can sense her fear.

Alone, spinning, scared, sick, tired, freezing, dying.

It's all just one big blur.

She pulls her phone out, calling the first person that comes up. She can't even remember who it was or what she said to them. But she's desperate.

The little brush of air she'd felt on her neck gets stronger, more aggressive, almost reprimanding.

Darker, darker, darker.

She doesn't hear the voice calling her name from across the floor.

_Flip the switch, I'm good as gone._

Doesn't see the figure rushing toward her, catching her limp body in its arms.

All she sees is blackness.

_And everything else goes away...everything else goes away._


	4. I Wish I Could Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey kiddos, I know it's been a while since this book was updated (6 months eek!), but here we are back again! Let me just say that this one may be my favorite piece I've done for this fandom. Just ignore the fact that it's me torturing Natalie again. Canon gives me so much to work with, what can I say? I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this (cliché, I know, but hopefully true!)
> 
> **TW for prescription drug abuse, use of the word cr*zy and sl*t, mentions of a dead sibling, suicide mention, blood, and pretty strong descriptions of high places (just wanna cover all my bases here!)**

Natalie Goodman was eight years old when she entered her "superhero phase".

 

She spent all her time in the backyard climbing on rocks, trees, hills, and anything else she could wrap her pudgy fingers around and propel her thin little legs upon. She liked to think she was nimble and agile like the superheroes she'd read about all the time. Her imagination ran free and wild, unburdened by any restrictions reality could place on it. 

 

She called herself Supergirl.

 

Every day she went on adventures stopping bank robberies and saving the town. She leaped off any surface she could climb atop, wind rushing through her short brown curls. Her dad joined in when he could, taking her by the hands and spinning her around until she was dizzy and giggling. She loved the idea of flying more than anything in the world.

 

Eight-year-old Natalie was a risk-taker. By sundown, her arms and legs would be covered in bright red scrapes and the beginnings of deep, purple bruises. She'd cry like any kid would when a cut particularly stung. Dan used to bandage her cuts and scrapes for her, tending to them with an experienced sense of calmness.

 

"You're alright, Nat...just a few little scrapes nothing we can't fix..." he'd say, a soft lilt to his voice as he brushed away Natalie's tears with his thumb.

 

"Even the bravest superheroes fall down sometimes," he reassured her every time he finished bandaging her injuries. She'd smile and get back up to play again, completely forgetting about her scrapes.

 

She began to trust her dad to take care of her and heal her wounds. But eventually, the cuts got deeper, her sobs got stronger...yet no one would come to fix them. No one would wipe away her tears and kiss her injuries. That sense of calmness would never reach her again.

 

Natalie would watch the stream of bright crimson blood cascade over her kneecap, afraid to touch it with her dirt-covered hands. She'd sit motionless in the grass, wincing every time she tried to stand on her own. She'd glance up hopefully at the back door to see if the knob would ever turn.

 

"Daddy!" she'd yell pleadingly through sobs, louder and louder, but to no avail. She didn't understand why he wouldn't come until she limped into the house and heard her mother wailing about a little boy she saw on the street "who looked exactly like _him_ " as her dad muttered something vaguely in Natalie's direction about Band-Aids in the cabinet.

 

Natalie quickly realized that those moments with her dad were gone. She realized that she needed to be able to take care of herself. But Supergirl wasn't the same without her sidekick.  The feeling of flying wasn't worth getting hurt over and over again.

 

_I wish I could fly..._

————————————————————————

 

"Isn't this view incredible, Di?" Dan smiled at his wife as they stood atop the Grand Canyon Skywalk, noticing her vacant gaze. Diana managed a simple nod in return, causing Dan's eyebrows to furrow in concern as he snapped a picture of the canyon.

 

Meanwhile, twelve-year-old Natalie had stepped away from her parents, peering over the edge of the rounded deck. Her eyes widened in awe as she took in the sight of the cascading rocks, slowly lifting her arms to look and feel like wings. Her feet felt light; her body almost seemed to levitate above the rocky ground that was barely visible from how high up they were. She closed her eyes, breathing in the crisp, thin air.

 

She felt like she was on top of the world, invincible, like nothing and no one could bring her down. What some people may have seen as just a pit of rocks, she saw as an escape from the world around her.

 

She missed this feeling.

 

"Natalie! Come on, we have to get to Aunt Rhonda's before it gets dark!"

 

A cool gust of wind and her father's sharp tone brought her back into reality. Startled, she stumbled enough to make her trip into the guardrail, gripping the cold metal for dear life. Suddenly, when she got a glimpse of the canyon, all she could see was an infinite abyss that she was about to fall into. She saw rocks that would shatter her bones, killing her in a millisecond. The feeling of flying was gone.

 

"Quit messing around, Nat, you could've seriously hurt yourself!" He took her hand roughly, leading her back to the gray Honda.

 

Natalie didn't want to get hurt again like she had all those times when she was younger. So she promised herself never to let herself fly again. What goes up must come down. Flying leads to falling, and falling leads to pain.

 

_I wish I could fly..._

————————————————————————

Natalie hadn't dared to fly again in four years. She stopped herself hastily whenever the desire presented itself. But somehow, she couldn't stop the words of desperation and lament from pouring out of her mouth as she sat on her bedroom floor, finally letting her guard down in front of the boy she had only just started to really talk to.

 

Natalie wasn't Supergirl anymore. No Supergirl would be as weak as she was now. Supergirl was supposed to fly. She was supposed to be indestructible, made of steel. But all Natalie could do was turn into a cloud of air without even trying. She was too scared to fly, so she was stuck on the ground. Clearly, _he_ deserved to be Superboy way more than she did. He was strong, he was persistent, and his presence was impenetrable.

 

Superboy flew higher than she ever could. Superboy soared around their parents' thoughts. He was the real hero of the story, the perfect prince who could do no wrong. And Natalie? Natalie just...wasn't there.

 

Natalie wanted to fly more than ever. She wanted to sprout wings and fly as far away from her miserable life as possible.

 

"You'll get to fly someday, Nat. I promise," Henry said as he made his way downstairs and out the front door to go back to his house.

 

"But I can't...flying leads to falling, and falling leads to pain," she whispered under her breath after she was sure Henry had gone.

 

Now she was alone again. Except she was never truly alone. _He_ was always lurking, whether she knew it or not. He seemed to do everything in his power to hold her to the ground until the mere thought of ever flying again sent chills down her spine.

 

_I wish I could fly..._

————————————————————————

_Flying leads to falling, and falling leads to pain._

 

The words swirled around her head like they were almost tangible, making her vision lose focus and her legs start to give out from underneath her.

 

With each chalky little tablet she forced down her throat, the world around her slowly began to fade away, replaced by a feeling of lightness and euphoria that she couldn't describe even if she tried.

 

Warmth coursed through her veins as each step she took through the lively nightclub began to feel lighter, almost like she was walking on air. She held her arms out as she stumbled, flapping them aggressively to get a bit of the numbness in her limbs to go away.

 

The motion made her feel like a bird soaring through the clouds, and she could've sworn that's exactly what began to appear all around her. She squealed with glee, feeling like she had enough energy to climb Mt. Everest and the invincibility to jump from the top and start to glide through the sky without a care in the world. She could defy all the laws of gravity if she wanted to, goddamnit, and nothing was going to stop her. She felt herself rising higher, standing on her toes and reaching toward the sky.

 

How could she have gone without flying this long? How could she give this up when this is the best she's ever felt in a long time?

 

_No...flying leads to...more flying? What was it? Who gives a fuck anymore? This is awesome! This is-_

 

"Hey, you better watch it, slut!"

 

Natalie's small frame hit the polished flooring with a loud smack, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself back at the club, trapped in a crowd of drunk girls in miniskirts and rowdy men gathered around the bar.

 

She slowly pulled herself up, gripping the edge of the bar counter for support. The bartender glared at her briefly before returning to his job, seeming to make a mental note to cut her off even when she's had nothing to drink.

 

The pills were starting to catch up with her. She spread her arms again, flapping them much more desperately now, hoping to get back the feeling of lightness. But she couldn't. Instead, the more forcefully she waved her arms, the dizzier she felt until she was back on the dirty floor again, being stepped over and ignored by the other patrons.

 

Everything hurt now; her arms, her legs, her back. It felt as though her wings had been clipped. She laid still as a stone on the cold ground, her head throbbing with even the slightest movement. Nobody even noticed her limp form, her weak sobs, her groans of pain. She was invisible again.

 

Her mind drifted back to that day at the Grand Canyon, wondering if this is what it would've felt like had she fallen onto the rocks. All she wanted now was for someone to help her get back up, to tell her that she was brave and to bandage her wounds again. But this time, it wouldn't be so simple. These wounds were on the inside; both the ones that were fighting to come up out of her stomach and the ones that she felt burning a hole deep in her heart.

 

When she flew, all those wounds were gone. Everything below her seemed so trivial. But even through the haze of prescription drugs, the same chill shot up her spine and the same voice whispered in her ear.

 

_What goes up must come down._

 

_Flying leads to falling, and falling leads to pain._

 

_I wish I could fly..._

 

————————————————————————

 

"Hey..."

 

"Hey..."

 

"You came," Henry said, doing his best to mask his surprise.

 

"Well, I said that I might," Natalie replied simply, smiling at his dorky expression and the way he couldn't seem to get over just how beautiful she looked right then.

 

"Will your mom be okay?" Henry asked, regretting it slightly when he saw her face fall.

 

"Well, she might be someday...but she's still on my mind," Natalie admitted, turning her back to him as he started to approach her.

 

"Do you...are...are you okay?" Something in his gut told him that she was holding something back from him.

 

"Hey...am I crazy?" She whirled around to face him again, and this time he could see the redness rimming her eyes.

 

"Nat, you're not crazy...and even if you were, I'll be here for you."

 

"Sure, yeah, you say that right here, but what about a year from now? What about ten years or even a fucking lifetime?! What if we get married and we have kids and they have to grow up with a crazy mother too? And you...you'll have to put up with so much shit, trust me, I've seen it all. Staring at walls, throwing shit down the stairs, freaking out at the store, running nude down the street...bleeding out in the bath, and-" Her voice broke on the last few words as Henry impulsively pulled her close to him, gently taking the broken girl's chin in his hands.

 

Henry had never been much of an eloquent speaker, but somehow, deep in his mind and in his heart, he knew exactly what to say to her.

 

"Shhh, Nat...I will be perfect for you. And, yeah, you might go crazy, or I could go crazy, you never know. Life is insane, Nat, for both of us. But I can handle a little crazy, 'cause crazy and fucked up is perfect for me. So, I promise you, I will be perfect for you."

 

"Perfect..." Natalie echoed, meeting his eyes as her warm tears fell onto his thumb.

 

Henry slowly moved his face closer to hers so that they were a mere inches apart. The distance between them grew even smaller as their lips brushed each other's, finally meeting for a soft kiss.

 

Natalie's lips went numb and her head felt like it was floating a foot above the rest of her body. Her body gradually started to relax, accepting the kiss. As her lips touched Henry's, she felt seen and loved.

 

She felt like she was flying.

 

But this time, her stupid mantra didn't echo in her brain. She placed her trust in Henry, fully believing that he won't let her get hurt. She knew she was secure in his arms, and she knew that even though she'll feel pain again eventually, he'll be there to make sure she can get back up and fly again like the superhero she was meant to be.

 

"Nothing we can't fix."

 

_Give me pain, if that's what's real._

 

So Natalie will accept the pain for what it is.

 

_It's the price we pay to feel._

 

Because sometimes, when you fly, you get hurt.

 

_But still we pay._

 

But it takes a real hero to dare to fly again.


End file.
